Behind the Brave Face

To all the Tonys out there

“Would you like something to drink?” I’m trying to put a fresh spin on a question I’d said hundreds of times in rapid succession over the course of the last few days.

“I’ll have a Jack and Coke, please. Thank you,” says the soldier in my section, one of very few passengers towards the back of the plane on the last flight of the night from Seattle to Chicago.  I’m relieved the flight is half full with everyone crowded up front, as my friendly flight attendant persona had taken a recent downgrade to just civil.  The back of the plane is my domain as I’m flying the B position…better known as the Bitch in the Back with the Book.  It’s the last flight of my trip and I am tired. I just want to be at home, getting on with my real life, already in progress without me as being in a pressurized tube full of strangers passing gas has lost its appeal. 

There’s a mind numbing amount of ho hum in the sky waitress gig; here’s your Coke, yes, you’ll make your connection, no, there’s no one in the bathroom, that’s what VACANT means.  I am numb from life’s mundane mediocrity, but I’m about to get an eye opener.

 I return with the drinks and when I get to the soldier, I tell him his is on the house.

“Nah,” he says, trying to shove his five dollar bill in my hand, hands that are busy holding a tray. “You can’t be serious.”  

I snap out of automated air hostess mode to take him in. He appears to be in his late twenties and I immediately get the impression he’s had a rough life.  His face is made up of hard angles, he wears thick glasses, his expression is towards the dour end of the spectrum.  As someone who’s often told to “Smile!” while sporting what I consider to be a neutral and appropriate expression, I sense we might be kindred spirits.  

“Of course, I’m serious.  It’s company policy and it would be my policy, even if it wasn’t. Get as drunk as you like, I mean, within reason.  You’re on leave, right?  You should celebrate.”  

I hand him the drink with a genuine smile, and he gives me one in return. I go back to the tasks at hand.

 I finish up my duties and plop my ass down in an empty row of seats to get some humorous distraction from David Sedaris.  Only a few hours to go and this trip will be over.

I’m into the book only a few pages when the soldier reappears. I’m a bit taken aback as I’m usually the one standing over people in the aisle. I feel a strange sense of comradery with him even before he speaks; I think it’s because I get the sense we’re both in uniforms we’d rather not be wearing.

“I don’t want to interrupt your reading.”

“It’s okay.  You need another cocktail?”

“I do.  And I’d like to hang out back here and talk. If that’s okay with you.”

“Sure.” In all honesty, I would have rather been left alone with the book, as I’m not a great small talker. I leave that sort of thing to my co-workers who traffic in the yakety yak that makes the world go around but I guess my smile combined with the offer of free booze seems to have sold me as the go-to girl for time wasting chatter.   

“So you’re on leave?  Headed home?” 

“I’m not on leave.  I’m done. I’m out. I guess I’m headed home. My family’s there.”

“You’re out!  That’s most definitely a cause to celebrate.  You must be excited to be back.”

“Yes and no.”

His face hints at a complicated situation.  As we’re strangers, I let it go.  We discuss how he grew up in Bolingbrook, outside Chicago, that he hasn’t been back in quite a few years, that he joined the Army to escape the suburbs.

“So what’s the plan now?” 

“No clue.”

“Well, that’s exciting.  An opportunity to press the reset button on your whole life.”

“Not sure I can do that.  The things I saw over there….. I can’t make them go away”

I’m not quite sure what to say to such a statement, but I decide I should at least know who I’m talking to.

“What’s your name?” 

“Tony,” he says, pointing to his nametag, which actually reads Anthony.

“Tony, I’m Eileen.” I point to my wings.

“Your wings, give them to me,” Tony says, touching the silver nametag affixed to my sweater as he steps towards me in the galley to move out of the way of an elderly woman heading towards the airplane’s tiny bathroom.  

“I can’t do that, Tony.  I have to keep the wings on.  I’m sure you understand appearance requirements.”

The bathroom-bound woman stops, surveys Tony’s uniform, and says, “Thank you for your service, son.”

 “Oh, I’ve been discharged, honorably, in case you care.  But you’re welcome, ma’am.”

 He opens the lavatory door for her.  He turns his eyes back to me as she goes in the bathroom and shuts the door.

“What if I trade you for something I have?  Like my coin?”

“I’m not giving up my wings for pocket change, dude.”

“No, not my coins.  My coin.  My challenge coin”.

He fishes through his pockets and pulls out an official looking colorful disc, about the size of a silver dollar. He places it in my hand. I look it over; it announces that Tony is a Private First Class. I don’t know much about the armed services, but I’m pretty sure that that rank is towards the bottom of the Army’s hierarchy. It matters not as his excitement trumps the title and my limited understanding of what it all means. Below the rank the coin says the following in the tiniest of letters that I must squint to see:  Selfless service.  Respect.  Duty.  Loyalty.  Honor.  Integrity.  Personal Courage.   

“Tell me about the coin.”

“Will you give me the wings?”

“I didn’t agree to trade with you yet.  But if you tell me about the coin, I’ll make you another Jack and Coke.” 

“Deal.”

As I’m pouring the drink, he explains, “The coin is how you identify yourself as part of a military organization. It’s a morale thing. You have to carry your coin at all times, no matter what. Anyone can challenge you to see it by taking out their coin.”

“What happens if you don’t have it?” 

“I don’t even want to know. At the very least, you’d have to buy a lot of other guys’ drinks.”

“Sounds like you better keep the coin, Tony”.

“I don’t need it anymore. I’m done. No one’s going to challenge me to see my coin when I get back to Bolingbrook.”  

“I suppose not.  But why would you want to give it to me?”

“Because I want the wings.”

“That’s just silly. I can’t give you the wings. I’d get in trouble.”

 Tony makes short work of his cocktail and says, “Alright. I’ll let it go. For now.”  His face shifts to a more solemn expression.  “Don’t you want to know why I got discharged?  Why I’m out?”

“I guess.  If you want to tell me.”

“I’m not right. In the head. The things I saw over there, I couldn’t handle. I’d see them at night when I closed my eyes. I’d dream about death. It’s like I couldn’t escape.  They put me on all kinds of different drugs, but nothing made it stop. Finally they had no choice but to let me go.”

“Sounds like an untenable situation, Tony.  It’s good you got out.”

“I don’t know what untenable means.”

“It means you’re doing the right thing by going home.”

“You think so?  You don’t think I’m a pussy?”

“Of course not. I’m sure you gave it your all. It’s not the kind of situation you should feel bad about not being able to handle. Start thinking about how you’ll start your life over.”  

“I’m not sure how to do that.”

“Don’t you think your family could help you sort that out?”

“I don’t think so. I joined the Army to get away from them. They only care about me now because I’m hurt. They think I’m some sort of hero, but I’m not.”

Again, I’m not sure how to respond to this. I look at his eyes through his glasses and I see eyes much like my own. Inquisitive yet suspicious. Eyes filled with loneliness, but not with despair. Even through the somber tone of the conversation, his face beams, perhaps from the liquor, but more likely from having someone listen to him. After a lengthy stretch of processing the human race in bulk, I’m finding unexpected solace in Tony letting me see the scarred soul beneath his dutiful exterior.

He breaks the silence with, “Can’t you just give me the wings?  It would make me so happy.”

“Give me your address in Bolingbrook.  I’ll mail you some wings when I get home.”

“You promise?  You swear?”

“Of course, Tony. I’m taking the coin. We’ll shake on it.”  I slip the coin into my pocket as we shake hands dramatically and laugh.

We’re getting close to Chicago, about half an hour away. The seat belt sign goes on.  Tony follows the rules and returns to his seat and I go back to my fly girl duties, cleaning up the galley, pouring out the sodas, latching up the cabinets.  

I’m back to the Sedaris when Tony is once again standing over me.  

“Will you sit with me before we land?” 

“Sure.”

Tony sits in the window seat and looks out at the vast expanse that is Chicago from the air. He grabs my hand and holds it tightly, staring out the window. I can see that he has started to cry.

“I don’t know this place anymore. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’m just so afraid. I do know that real men don’t fucking cry. It’s a sign of weakness. I’ve never cried as a grown man, at least not in front of other people.”

“It’s okay, Tony.  Crying takes courage.  It should make you feel better.”

He squeezes my hand again and sobs.  

“I just don’t know what to do.”

“A lot of days I don’t know what to do either. You’re not alone there, Tony. Try to accept the love your family has to offer you now, forget about whatever happened with them in the past. Think of how lucky you are to be alive and start your life over.  Promise me that you will.” Tony nods and chokes back his tears.

We are about a minute from landing. I have to get back to my jump seat. Hang in there, Tony.

The plane pulls into the gate, the lights flip on, and all the bleary eyed passengers start wrangling all their possessions out of the overhead bins. Tony appears to have pulled it together, which fills me with relief. I open the airplane door and enjoy a big hit of Chicago fresh air, albeit mixed with jet fuel stink.

Tony makes his way back to the galley with a drink napkin in his hand. He gives it to me, his address is written neatly in block print.  

“You’ll send me the wings?  You promised.”

“Of course, Tony.  A deal’s a deal.”

Tony steps towards me and unexpectedly lifts me high in the air, kissing me on the mouth. For that brief moment, everyone else on the plane and the planet ceases to exist. A moment that could have easily been scary or weird, was strangely, perfect.  He puts me down and smiles and makes his way back up the aisle. He stops at a row with a young mother struggling to wake up her sleeping child and get her many pieces of luggage in order. Tony picks up her bags with his free hand and asks, 

“Your husband meeting you here?”

The tired mom replies, “Yeah, he just pulled into the parking lot.”

“Just grab your kid.  I can get the rest of this stuff until we find your old man.”

“Are you sure?” She looks at me, in disbelief of Tony’s random act of kindness.  “That would be so great.”  I nod and watch them walk away.

My co-worker comes to the back to get her bags once all the passengers have gone.

“Thank God we’re done,” she says, “that flight lasted an eternity. What was up with that Army guy? He seemed kinda crazy.”

“He was actually a pretty interesting character. I guess you had to be there.”

I make my way home, to return to my real life that is just as I left it.  I find a pair of old wings, buried in my desk drawer. I wrap them up carefully, transcribing the information from the napkin onto the envelope. I send them on their way to the nearby suburb, turning my stiff upper lip back to a genuine smile.